


John

by SoonerThanLater



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-29
Updated: 2013-09-29
Packaged: 2017-12-28 00:01:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/985205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SoonerThanLater/pseuds/SoonerThanLater
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John Watson is learning to cope with life after Sherlock. </p><p>-- </p><p>just a dumb short fic i wrote a year and a half ago right after i watched the reichenbach fall. it was the height of my emotional breakdown over a television program.</p>
            </blockquote>





	John

            John plugged in the electric kettle and waited for the water to boil. It was a different kettle than the one he had grown accustomed to from the past couple of years.

            All at once, flashbacks seared through his thoughts and blurred his vision. The ancient Victorian wallpaper, marred with a single yellow smiley face and bullet holes. From the view in the entryway, John could see a tall man with curly black locks and a pale, narrow face casually shooting his gun at the wall, his precision impeccable as the smiley face became an unfortunate target. “I’m bored.” The man stated simply, without removing his shrewd eyes from the inanimate victim. “But you just solved a case.” John had tried to reason with him, thinking of how Mrs. Hudson will react to her battered walls. “Yes, yes, but that was _this morning_.” The taller man had rolled his eyes. John’s eyes widened as the other man put down the gun and started reaching for the machete nearby. “Oh no you don’t!” John said as he kicked the weapon to the other side of the room. The other man glared at him until the doorbell ran seconds later, then his face lit up. “Did you hear that? A CLIENT!” With that, he bounded for the front door, leaping over an arm chair in the process.

            Harry stepped into the kitchen and saw John clutching the edges of the countertop. Her eyebrows furrowed as she cautiously took steps toward him.

            In a cracked voice, due to a dry throat, she said, “John.”

            John snapped his head towards his little sister. He saw the concern in her eyes and a wave of guilt washed over him.

            “I’m sorry.” He uttered, and turned his attention back to the electric kettle, which now contained boiling water.

            “You have absolutely nothing to be sorry for. So stop apologizing.” She smiled reassuringly as she pulled two mugs down from a shelf.

              “But I _do_.” He said stubbornly. “You don’t need to be dragged into my crippling depression. You’re still young.”

            Harry didn’t bother to look up, she didn’t want to see the same disappointed expression in her brother’s face. The same expression that plagued him since _that day_. That same day he came to her door and told her that he didn’t know where else to go. He wanted to be anywhere that did not remind him of _him_. Which was a very difficult thing to do since he had been on adventures all over England with _him_. Ever since bearing witness to his fatal plunge John has not been the same. It took everything he had to face his grave.

            _Sherlock Holmes_

            The white engraving over the black marble seemed to mock him and the words that tumbled out of his mouth, much like how the man who the name represented did many times.

_“Please… one more miracle, Sherlock… for me. Don’t… be… dead.”_

John did not notice his sister bustling around him as he stood next to the counter, until she set down two plates of food on the small circular kitchen table.

            Harry pretended not to notice John’s stupor, because she knew what he thought about. And suddenly, the name _Sherlock Holmes_ flashed through her mind. The name brought a bitter metallic taste to her mouth and suddenly she wasn’t hungry anymore.

            She took a couple of bites of her toast and piled the rest of her scrambled eggs onto John’s plate, which was now overflowing with food.

            John studied his plate which contained three slices of buttered toast, scrambled eggs, a couple of slices of honey dew, and a half of a grapefruit.

            “You’re starting to treat me how mum used to.” John complained good-naturedly.

            Harry smiled at him as she tugged on her red pea coat, “Except I’m doing a poor job at it, aren’t I?” She felt accomplished as a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “Well, I’m off to work. Off to be a productive member of society.” She adjusted a scarf around her neck. “Which has made me think that maybe you should—.”

            “No!” John’s voice echoed throughout the entire flat, but it hardly made Harry flinch. “I’m not ready to… go back to the life I had before.”

            Harry felt the insides of her chest tighten, “You mean before Sherlock?” John shot her a glare. “You never say his name. It’s not taboo you know,” she retorted.

            John looked down at the food in front of him sullenly. Harry worried he wouldn’t eat more than three bites.

            “Besides,” she said, reaching for her bag that sat on the floor, “He would never want you to live like this. And you know that.”

            He watched the back of his sister’s retreat towards the front door and suddenly remembered, “Hey!”

            Harry turned around, her hand already on the doorknob. She watched as John took long hurried strides towards her, a coffee thermos in his hand.

            “I made this for you.” He smiled as she took the offering. “I’m just… proud of you.”

            She blushed, remembering pictures of the past she was not proud of. Blacking out in strangers’ apartments, waking up next to strange men, and a pitiful bank statement were among them. It took about a year after her partner left for Harry to gather up the courage to return back to her job at the office. Seeing her brother in the news and seeing how quickly his life turned around filled her with a newfound hope. _Not all is lost._

            “Thank you,” she accepted the coffee and kissed him on the cheek. “But really, think about it. It does nothing to my spirits to live with someone whose only accomplishment for the day is eat my food.”

 

            Harry walked down the London sidewalk that still glistened from last night’s rain. Three blocks down, she could see the black luxury car waiting for her. As she approached it, she could feel anger and resentment rise within her, threatening to overpower her heart.

            She slid into the backseat, which was already occupied by a tall man, his dark curls brushed against the ceiling of the car. She looked into his eyes and had to refrain from slapping the annoyed expression on his face.

            “You’re late.” He stated.

            She sighed, “Well, I apologize for my tardiness. But I do have a grieving brother at home.” She glared at him. “Grieving over you.”

            Sherlock raised his voice to grab the attention of the somnolent driver. “We can get going now.”

            The driver, startled, banged his head on the steering wheel and cursed before giving the ignition a start.

            Harry crossed her arms and looked out the window as the car pulled into the street.

            “So how is he?”

            Harry’s mouth formed a tight line and let the question hang in the air for a moment before retorting, “If you cared about him at all, you would ask him yourself.”

            Then, something that has never happened before happened. Every week, Sherlock would ask the same question. Every week, Harry would dutifully give a report. She was tired of giving him what he wanted.

            _John actually wore something other than a bathrobe yesterday. He wore sweatpants and an old t-shirt. I didn’t even know he owned sweatpants._

_He ate three meals yesterday._

_He doesn’t return any phone calls unless they’re from Mrs. Hudson._

_He had a nightmare last night and woke up screaming._

“Well?” Sherlock drummed his fingers against his knees impatiently.

“I thought you were some sort of genius at reading people. Why don’t you just _read_ me if you want your report?” She snapped.

Sherlock looked ahead and addressed the driver, “Take the longer route please.”

“But I’ll be late for work!” Harry said angrily.

Sherlock waved away her complaint effortlessly and studied her face and body posture: arms and legs crossed. She unknowingly pushed herself against the door of the cab in order to put as much distance as she could between them. The man always made her uncomfortable. Sherlock opened his mind palace to recall everything John had ever said about his little sister.

“I know you have a hard time trusting women, especially after your partner left you. It also doesn’t help that your father left you, your mother, and John when you still a small child. You watched your mother struggle to raise two children on her own while working sixty hours a week in order to put food on the table and to send you two to good schools. When your wife left with another woman, you felt all was lost. But you had a change of heart when you saw in the newspapers how John picked up the pieces of his life and could be happy again. So here you are. On your way to work, and judging by your perfume, shoes, jewelry, and nail polish, you have a lunch date with an officemate. And I know you and John had a fight last night when you came back from your date with the aforementioned officemate. John kept saying that he himself is a burden to you and your youth because he keeps moping around and never leaves the flat. Not to mention you came back ‘early’ from your date obviously so that you could be there for him when he wakes up from his nightmares.”

Harry’s face paled, “How did you know about the fight?”

Sherlock shrugged, “I watched you two from the front window. My, you two love to put on displays for the neighbors don’t you?”

“I’m tired of giving you reports. And I’m tired of seeing my brother so hopeless. You have to come back.” She looked at him straight in the eyes. She could feel him thinking.

“It’s not the right time. I still have to… sort out a few things first.” He said slowly, as if he were mulling over his own words.

She just shook her head as the car pulled up in front of an office building.

She was about to leave him wordlessly, but he pulled her back by grabbing onto her elbow awkwardly. It wasn’t until she turned her head to look back at him when he spoke.

“Thank you.”

Still surprised at the physical contact, Harry offered a small smile. It wasn’t often Sherlock Holmes reached out to people.

“You missed one thing.” She smiled mischievously at his smug expression.

“He made me coffee today.” She said, holding up her thermos as evidential proof.

Sherlock grinned, “There’s always something, Harriet.”

As the two of them departed from that point, their destinations changed, but their thoughts dwelled on the same subject.

            They thought about the same man who was, at that moment, getting ready to go back to work at the clinic after being away for four months. They thought of the same man who yearned to take another step forward in his life.

            John didn’t feel afraid anymore as he stepped out onto the sidewalk and made his way down the familiar metropolitan streets. Because with every step he took, he knew he would always have Sherlock taking the same steps beside him. _He is no longer alone._


End file.
